


Fic: I Know What Boys Like

by tuesdaysgone



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-12
Updated: 2009-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgetting about an anonymous bathroom encounter is harder than it should be, especially when it turns into something unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sorry I teased you

This is all Mikey's fault, Gerard thought as his shoulder blades pushed awkwardly against the cold tile wall of the filthy men's bathroom at The Jester Club. Mikey would be horrified at the thought, probably, because who really would want to be responsible for the fact that one's older brother was currently being molested by a mildly drunk and breathtakingly hot tattooed punk kid? But Mikey was the one who'd gone out of town to visit his girlfriend's family, and insisted Gerard use the ticket to go see his roommate's band open for Live Wire at the Jester. Gerard didn't know who or what else to blame. Once upon a time, he could have also blamed the alcohol he'd been drinking, but he was clean and sober now. He couldn't blame Mikey's roommate Pete, because his band had killed their set. Possibly Live Wire should take part of the blame, because their new lead singer sounded a little like a wounded cat and Gerard had slunk off to the upstairs bar to spare his ears. It was there that he'd run into - literally - the hot guy with all the tattoos. Just being in the same room as so much alcohol had made him jittery, and he'd been ready to escape already at the time of the collision. "Shit, shit, sorry," he'd exclaimed breathlessly as the impact sent the guy's plastic cup flying, liberally dousing both their arms with beer. Sickened by the feel of the quickly-drying liquid on his skin, he'd clamped a hand around the other guy's wrist and dragged them both into the bathroom to clean up.

Except it looked like the other guy had misinterpreted things a little. The door had barely swung shut before he'd gotten himself turned around and slowly, purposefully backed Gerard into the wall. Gerard swallowed, his eyes tracking up and down. Short hair with long, straggling choppy bangs. Smudged eyeliner, nose and lip piercings. Tattoos crawling out from under the sleeves and hem of his black tee where - Gerard licked his lips - it barely met the waistband of his tight, shredded jeans. Okay. He was definitely hot. Gerard felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone this much in his space. He could see the specks of gold and green in the guy's brownish eyes. "Um - " he started, only to cut himself off in surprise as the guy reached past him to twist the door lock with his free hand.

"You've got me in here. Whatcha gonna do with me?" He had a deep voice for such a little guy, and he'd only slurred a tiny bit. He sounded a tiny bit amused, but a lot turned on. Gerard realized he was still gripping the guy's wrist. Maybe he likes it, Gerard thought wildly. At least half his blood had suddenly drained out of his head, he knew that much.

"I was gonna wash the beer off," Gerard said, stalling for time, and the guy laughed, a scratchy stoner giggle that somehow made him even sexier.

"Don't bother," he said, raising their still-joined arms and licking a slow, wet path up the inside of Gerard's wrist. Gerard jerked back in surprise, which only served to bring the shorter man stumbling up against his chest. Belatedly, he let go of the guy's arm, but not before he'd breathed in an intoxicating lungful of the sweat and cigarette smoke scent that clung to his neck. Not before he'd felt the hard line of the guy's cock press against his thigh. He let out a sound, half gasp, half groan, hands falling instinctively to wrap around the guy's hips. The other man smirked, pushing closer. "That's what I thought," he said, voice practically dripping with satisfaction.

Gerard growled a little, deep in his throat. He was just surprised, that was all. If Hot Tattooed Guy wanted a piece, then he could fucking have it. He reached out a hand, wrapping it around the back of the guy's head to where his sweat-damp hair lay in a velvety fuzz over his skull, crushing their lips together. No more hesitation, just tongues, occasionally the sharp edge of teeth. He was making the most gorgeous noises into Gerard's mouth, and he tasted less like beer than like cigarettes. Gerard wanted to lick along the angle of his jaw, and really, what was to stop him? So he did, adding a sharp nip in the soft hollow beneath his ear. The other man jerked against him, his hands clenching where they had paused their exploration beneath Gerard's leather jacket. Then they dropped suddenly to Gerard's belt, fumbling lightning-quick with the buckle before shoving inside, pushing the black denim down along with the elastic of Gerard's briefs, and he sank more-or-less gracefully to his knees on the dirty floor.

Gerard bit down on his bottom lip hard, drawing in a ragged breath. He was already half-hard just from the sweep of the guy's fingers over his over-sensitive skin, and when he wrapped one hand carefully around the hardening shaft, Gerard groaned, hoping he didn't embarrass himself completely. A puff of hot breath was all the more warning he received before his cock was sliding past the guy's lips, his sinfully gorgeous mouth engulfing him in wet heat. If Gerard hadn't been leaning against the wall already, he might have fallen, just at the sheer sensation. It had been such a long time, and fuck if he hadn't forgotten exactly how amazing it felt. He reached blindly for the other man, his hand dropping heavily on his shoulder for a moment before he gave up and simply tangled his fingers through the long strands of the guy's hair, holding on for dear life.

Gerard tried to hold still, breath wheezing and muscles shaking a little with the effort, but he couldn't help himself from snapping his hips forward a little at each particularly wicked curl of the guy's tongue. He let out a strangled sound of distress, but the guy just hummed a little against Gerard's skin and laid his hands over Gerard's hipbones, shoving him back against the wall more securely. Gerard collided with the blow dryer but barely even felt it, tipping his head back to haul in a few deep breaths. One of his hands was still twined in the guy's hair, but he trailed the fingers of the other hand down to the nape of his neck, feeling the muscles flex as the guy bobbed his head, increasing the speed and the force of his suction till Gerard's thighs trembled with the need to come, now. He let his head loll forward, blinking open tightly-shut eyes and watching the guy's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. It was too much, the sight of the beautiful boy, Gerard's own flushed skin disappearing into his mouth, his tattooed fingers splayed possessively across Gerard's hips. He groaned, helplessly, and the guy seemed to know he was close, one hand dropping out of sight in his own lap while the other reached to join his lips around Gerard's shaft.

He opened his mouth to speak, to tell the guy how close he was, maybe just how fucking good it felt, but the English language had deserted him, and whatever sounds he made were hopelessly garbled. The other man was still working him with his clever lips and tongue, dragging his fingernails across the sensitive skin of Gerard's thighs in a slow, torturous scrape. Gerard's fist clenched in the guy's hair, hard, and his hips jerked forward in tiny pistoning motions as he came into his hot mouth.

When his head cleared a little, Gerard felt a stinging sensation in his fingers and unclenched his hand from the guy's hair. He hadn't exactly acted like he minded it, but Gerard smoothed a hand through the sweaty strands a few times in apology, leaning against the wall and watching numbly as the guy spat out his mouthful of come onto the already-filthy floor, one tattooed hand pressing heavily against his own crotch. Gerard's breathing had evened out a little, and as the guy levered himself to his feet using Gerard's hips as handholds, Gerard moved quickly to pin him against the sink.

He didn't know what to say to this guy, this hot as hell punk kid who'd somehow decided he wanted to make Gerard come his brains out in a dirty club bathroom. So he didn't say anything, just tugged at the buttons of the guy's fly until he could slide a hand into his briefs and close it over his cock, already rock-hard and leaking. He knew it wouldn't take long. The guy was already flushed and panting, and Gerard pushed even closer, sweaty hair swinging forward like a curtain as he leaned in to bite an earlobe, trail his mouth along the sweaty skin of his neck to taste the scorpion inked there. With only a choked huff, he spilled hotly into Gerard's hand, too much for him to hold on to. He tugged at his own jeans one-handed and stumbled over to the next sink to rinse the sticky fluid down into the rust-stained bowl.

Gerard met his own eyes in the mirror, familiar color and shape but a wild expression he nearly failed to recognize. He'd never done something like this before; or maybe he had, but he'd been too drunk to remember after. Sober, there was really no way he could see to get out of this gracefully. What did he say? 'Thank you for getting me off?' 'You're the hottest thing I've ever seen?' So he just shook the water off his hands and quickly did up his dangling belt buckle. But when he turned around, Hot Tattooed Guy was still there, standing quiet and disheveled in the same spot, and Gerard needed, just needed to touch him one more time. Sliding one hand up the soft, warm skin of his bicep, he pulled him close, covered his lips with his own. Then he forced himself to let go, turning away to snap the lock on the bathroom door and slip back out into the crowded bar.

Before he could do anything stupid like turn back around and throw himself at Hot Tattooed Guy, Gerard stuck his hands in his pockets, put his head down, and walked straight out of the club, back into the anonymous streets of the city.

*

Clamping his cell phone between his face and shoulder, Gerard fumbled with the bag of Dunkin Donuts coffee beans he was attempting to dump into his grinder. "Hold on," he interrupted Mikey mid-sentence, pushing the switch on the grinder. Only a few beans escaped this time.

"Hazelnut?" his brother asked, and Gerard made an affirmative noise, tongue stuck between his teeth as he poured the grounds into his coffeemaker. "How many pots is that for today?"

"None of your business," Gerard told him. "Probably less than you anyway." The Way brothers had always been pretty well tied in the coffee consumption sweepstakes. "So, we got interrupted the other day - you had a good weekend?"

"Yeah, and Alicia says hi. What about you? Tell me you at least used that concert ticket I gave you?" Mikey didn't sound very hopeful.

"Yes, I did actually, smartass," Gerard told him.

"Fuck, I totally owe Pete twenty bucks now," Mikey said, a faint air of surprise coloring his normally deadpan voice. "Gerard Way went out on a Saturday night? Stop the presses."

"You threatened me so I'd use that ticket, and then bet against me? Nice, Mikes."

"Whatever. At least tell me you talked to another human being while you were there."

Gerard choked on a sip of coffee. When he was done coughing, he said weakly, "Um...sort of?"

He could practically hear Mikey's eyeroll. Then there was a crash from the background, and his brother said, "Shit, the crypt just fell over, gotta go. Later, Gee," and the call disconnected.

Gerard was still shaking his head as he doctored his coffee with creamer and Splenda. He'd been on set for enough of Mikey's movies to know that his brother's studio redefined 'low-budget' horror, but somehow the finished product was always wildly popular, if not particularly lucrative. Mikey didn't seem to care. The former dress shop below his and Pete's apartment served double duty as Mikey's studio and Pete's band's practice space. And speaking of Pete, Gerard had a corporate logo design to work on for the nonprofit where Pete did PR. He shuffled over to his worktable, clutching his coffee like a lifeline.

An hour later, his sketchpad was littered with logo variations, his computer drafting program blinking mockingly empty. Gerard was staring into space. He didn't see the burgundy wall of his living room. He was watching colorful tattoos flash across smooth creamy skin. Since he'd left the club Saturday night he'd spent more hours than he cared to admit drifting off into daydreams, only to realize his mind was replaying his encounter with Hot Tattooed Guy like a silent movie. Sometimes, it was more than just remembering. Sometimes the daydream-guy was in Gerard's bedroom instead, stripping off the rest of his clothes, Gerard's mind filling in the half-hidden tattoos, the lines of his body that had only been hinted at by his tight clothes. Imagining the way he'd writhe against Gerard's sheets when Gerard tasted the colors staining his skin.

The squeak of Gerard's desk chair brought him back to himself, and he heaved in a shuddering breath and pressed the heel of his hand against his crotch. This was getting ridiculous. It had been three days, and he was still fantasizing over a freak occurrence. Obsessing like a sex-starved teenager. No, just a sex-starved twenty-seven-year-old. He was pretty sure his imagination hadn't been quite so vivid at seventeen. He flexed his fingers, hissing a little at the pressure, and puffed out a few slow breaths before grabbing his coffee cup and standing up. He had too much work to do to let himself get distracted like this. He'd deal with the effects of his unruly brain some other time. Like tonight, in bed. For now, he was just going to have to settle for more coffee.

*

Ever since Gerard had gotten sober, Mikey'd been on his case to 'get out more'. Gerard thought this was a little unfair, because Lord knows when he was still a drunk, he'd gotten out plenty. But not, apparently, anywhere other than bars. So on Wednesday morning, Gerard set his alarm, got up, showered and dressed, and headed into the city to deliver his logo designs in person. It wouldn't be too bad, he told himself. The train was pretty excruciating during rush hour, but it was past that time now, and he'd never been to Pete's office but from what he'd heard, it was a pretty laid back place. If Pete was the head of PR, it would sort of have to be, Gerard mused, chuckling to himself. And once he was in the city, he'd maybe have time to swing by his favorite comic book store, or the funky little gallery where his friend Lindsey from art school worked. And when Mikey called, he could tell him all about it. Mikey would act like he was the biggest dork in existence, but Gerard knew he was proud. It was just really well-hidden.

Gerard checked his portfolio to make sure the finished sketches and the flashdrive with the digital files were all there, then let himself out of the house and started walking toward the train station. His shitty silver Subaru was in the shop, yet again. He'd have to remember to stop by the garage to see Bob later and check on the progress. It was a windy day, and Gerard knew his hair was a complete birds' nest by the time he reached the station, but he didn't bother fixing it, just settled into a seat with a paper cup of coffee and a bag of Reese's Pieces and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. By the time he got to Pete's office, halfway up a seen-better-days high-rise in the Flatiron District, his shoulders were tight but he was still moving. The receptionist showed him directly in to Pete's office, but from his brief look around the office he got an impression of a lot of personalities bursting out of their standard-issue grey upholstered cubes.

Pete's office, unsurprisingly, was jam-packed with posters, company giveaways, and knick-knacks of all shapes and sizes and, especially, colors. The entire effect was rather eye-popping. Pete didn't help matters. His idea of office attire apparently ran along the lines of a black bowtie with a jean jacket and violently red jeans. Pete looked a little tense despite the festive attire, and Gerard said tentatively as he settled onto the edge of a purple armchair, "Are you sure this is a good time?"

Pete waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, just...growing pains, you know? It's hard to find sponsors for a non-profit that aren't just chasing a trendy tax write-off."

"You're looking for the true believers, then?" Gerard asked, sipping from the coffee mug the receptionist had handed him, emblazoned with a ten-point buck and the message "More than just a nice rack."

"Well, yeah! That's why I'm excited to have you on board, Gerard. Your designs are..." he gestured to his computer screen, where he'd pulled up the contents of the flashdrive. "It's going to give us the look we need to be taken seriously. I've seen the stuff you do for Mikey, but the gore-free stuff is pretty awesome too, you know?" Gerard laughed, and leaned over to flip through the rest of the design variants with Pete. It only took an hour or so to settle on the designs Pete wanted to present to the management staff. He urged Gerard to stay and have lunch, but Gerard said no, he had other errands to run.

He stopped in the doorway, remembering, "I guess I'll see you on Friday, though."

Pete looked up from his stack of post-it notes. "Oh, you're coming over? Awesome."

Gerard tucked a chunk of hair behind his ear. "Yeah, promised Mikey. I have this new poster design for him anyway, for the troll flick?"

Pete laughed. "Gre-eat," he drawled. "The one for the werewolf movie gave me nightmares."

Gerard grinned. "I'm taking that as a compliment, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Pete sighed. "You Ways are freaks. See you Friday, Gerard."

Gerard was still chuckling when he stepped into the elevator.

*

When Friday evening rolled around, Gerard spent a long time pacing in front of his closet, twisting strands of hair between his fingers and staring at his clothes choices. Mostly black shirts, black jeans, black jackets. Some of them were brightened up by splashes of dried-on paint, but those weren't the nicer items anyway. He rubbed at a strand of hair. Was it too dirty? When was the last time he'd showered, anyway? Wednesday, probably. Mikey wouldn't care if he showered or not, and he didn't know any of Pete's friends that well anyway. He pulled on a long-sleeved thermal tee, a pair of black jeans, and then caught sight of the clock and swore. He was so fucking late. Halfway down the street, he remembered his poster for Mikey and swore again, walking quickly back, fumbling in his pocket for his keys and re-entering the house to grab the black plastic tube.

When he finally made it into town, it was really late, and Gerard was tired and not in the mood for socializing. He let himself in the front door of Mikey and Pete's building with his key and trudged up the stairs to the upstairs apartment. He could already hear music and raucous voices, and it made his skin crawl a little. He'd met some of Pete's friends, but usually one at a time. He wasn't sure how this was going to go. Closing the door behind him, he glanced into the living room and saw Mikey, rocking back on the couch, arms around his own waist, shaking with laughter. He flapped a hand weakly at Gerard and turned back to whoever was sitting with him. Gerard shook his head and crept down the hallway to stash the black plastic poster tube in Mikey's room. When he came back out, he headed back towards the noise but took a sharp detour into the kitchen, suddenly feeling the need for a Coke Zero to give him something to do with his hands. He grabbed the edge of the fridge door and leaned in, poking around through all of Pete's weird vegan food in search of soda.

He heard a voice from behind him, muffled by the fridge door but sounding strangely familiar. "I recognize your hands," it said. Slurred, really. Gerard straightened up, closed the fridge door gently, and turned around, and _oh_. It was a small, compact frame, colorful tattoos, and hazel eyes. It was, in short, Hot Tattooed Guy. In Mikey's kitchen. Shitfaced, in Mikey's kitchen. What the _fuck_?

"You're here," the guy was saying dreamily. "Are you real?" He stumbled closer, hands clutching handfuls of Gerard's shirtfront. Gerard wrapped his hands around the guy's hips automatically to keep him from falling over, and got a faceful of hair for his trouble as the guy swayed into him, lips fastening gently onto the curve of Gerard's neck. That, of course, was when Mikey walked in. His eyebrows shot up, and then he cleared his throat and said, "Frank? You know my brother?"

 _Frank._ He had a name. And he was turning his head, rolling one cheek heavily against Gerard's collarbone to look over at Mikey. "He's the Dude!" Frank slurred. "Dude, your brother. Dude in Black."

Mikey looked at Gerard over the top of Frank's tousled head. "How exactly do you know Frankie here, Johnny Cash?"

"It's a long - " Gerard bit back a gasp as Frank shifted in front of him, their dicks rubbing together briefly " - story," he groaned weakly. Frank was sucking at a spot on the side of Gerard's neck, and Gerard closed his eyes for a moment. He would have tried, in just one moment more, to disengage Frank, or so he told himself, but he didn't have to. Frank suddenly mumbled something into Gerard's neck and pulled away, disappearing through the kitchen door. Gerard was left shivering, standing in the kitchen with his brother, who frowned at him.

Someone in the living room called out, "Mikey, Joe's got this bong going, where the fuck did you disappear to?" Mikey made a face, and Gerard rolled his eyes.

Gerard said, "Just go. Go, I'll explain tomorrow. I promise. Promise!" he repeated, when Mikey raised a questioning eyebrow. He stood by himself in the kitchen for a few more minutes, nursing his soda, thinking. He didn't care if Mikey drank or smoked up every once in a while. He didn't need a babysitter or anything. But he wasn't sure how to react to Hot Tattooed Guy - Frank - being here. It struck him suddenly that he must be a friend of Pete's. And that was completely different than being a hot nameless bar hookup - or a jerkoff fantasy. Gerard felt weird, now. He didn't want to be Frank's drunk hookup, either, he realized, pacing into the dark dining area and cracking a window to light a cigarette. That was probably the last thing he needed in his life right now. Even though he couldn't get Frank's face out of his head. Maybe especially because of that.

He smoked the cigarette down to the filter, grinding it out against the brick sill and sneaking into the living room to drop the butt in an ashtray. Pete and his friends were sprawled in various corners of the room. There was a video game paused on the TV, several dudes having a very intense conversation over a couple LPs, a huddle around the bong on the coffee table. Pete saw him and waved, but no one was really paying attention to him. Gerard also didn't see Frank anywhere. He hoped he hadn't left in the state he was in. He frowned, shifted uneasily in the doorway for a moment, and then decided to go check the rest of the apartment.

  
The very first door was Pete's home office. The door was standing open and the room was dark. The next door, the bathroom door, was closed, but no one answered Gerard's knock so he slowly twisted the knob and peeked inside. Ah. There Frank was, sitting slumped against the wall by the tub. His eyes were closed and his jeans were still half-unbuttoned. Gerard knelt next to him on the bleach-splattered bath mat and reached out to touch his shoulder. "Frank?" he said quietly. "It's me. Gerard. Are you okay?"

One eyelid cracked open so Frank could squint up at him. "Gerard," he repeated slowly, rolling the r's a little. "M'k. Tired. Where'm I?"

"The bathroom - you gonna be sick?"

A lopsided shake of the head. "Nah. Heyyyy. Dude. Gerarrrrrd. Found you."

Gerard snorted a little. "Yeah, you did." He reached out and smoothed a few tangled strands of hair out of Frank's face. "M'gonna stand you up now, okay?" Frank's eyes had drifted shut again, but he nodded weakly and Gerard slid an arm around his back, gripping tight under Frank's armpit and hauling him to his feet. Frank was practically a rag doll but heavier than he looked, and Gerard almost ran them into the wall a couple times, but luckily Mikey's door was the next one down the hall. Silently apologizing to his brother for stealing his bed, Gerard eased Frank down onto the mattress, tugging off his ratty Chucks and pulling the comforter up to cover him.

When he turned to go, a hand snaked out with surprising accuracy and clamped around his wrist. "Frank?" he said, surprised. He knelt down beside the bed. "Can I leave you here, Frankie?"

"Heyyyy," Frank whispered, eyes still closed. "No. Stay." Gerard's stomach twisted in a giant knot. But he stayed, cheek leaning against the edge of the mattress, till Frank's breathing evened out and his grip on Gerard's wrist loosened. And he stayed after that, curling up in Mikey's ugly mustard-colored overstuffed armchair with one eye on the bed till both of his drooped closed as well.

*

Gerard woke up too damn early the next morning, confused for a moment about exactly why his body hurt so damn much, before he realized he'd fallen asleep in Mikey's armchair. Then he remembered everything else in a rush, and his eyes shot to Mikey's bed, where a lump of comforter and a shock of dark hair were all that indicated Frank's presence. Gerard sighed and rolled his neck. What a shitstorm. He scrubbed a hand over his face and hair, lazily, and unfolded himself from the chair, lurching clumsily out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. Mikey and Pete's coffeemaker was practically a sentient being. He was sure he'd be able to coax at least one cup out of it. Maybe that would help clear his mind.

To his complete shock and surprise, Mikey was already awake, standing at the kitchen counter shoveling down cereal and flipping through an issue of Fangoria. He looked up and saw Gerard, reached over and filled a coffee cup, and shoved it across the counter without even a word. Mikey was a fucking awesome little brother.

Three or four healthy sips in, Mikey flipped the magazine shut and tossed it aside. "So. Tell me how you acquired a hobbit-sized admirer that you didn't even bother to tell your own brother about." Mikey was a fucking annoying little brother. Gerard ignored the question for a moment, reaching for a bowl and spoon from the drying rack by the sink and grabbing the box of Frankenberry cereal. Mikey passed him the milk and lifted an eyebrow.

"Sorry about your bed. I didn't know where else to put him," Gerard mumbled.

"S'okay. Grabbed the couch in Pete's office. Surprised you didn't. That chair comfortable for you?" Seriously, most annoying little brother ever. Gerard glared and rubbed his neck.

"Why didn't you wake me up, then, asshole?"

"Why didn't you crawl in bed with your neck-sucking little friend? I mean, I'd have to burn my sheets, but still...."

"I - " Gerard didn't even have a comeback for that. Fucking annoying little brothers, seriously. Mikey was enjoying this way too much, the corners of his mouth twitching as he spooned up his own cereal. Gerard scowled into his bowl. Therefore, he wasn't sure exactly when Frank walked into the room, but the next thing he knew, he was pulling back the chair next to Gerard's and taking a bowl of cereal from Mikey, as Mikey immediately started giving him shit about how drunk he was the night before. And, even more humiliating, he didn't seem to remember Gerard's name. But why would he? Gerard knew the type of people Pete ran around with. They were all a lot more fun than him. Hell, Mikey was a lot more fun than him.

Gerard didn't feel too hungry anymore. Shoving his bowl away from himself, he jumped up from the counter and dug in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. He probably let the front door slam a little harder than he should have, considering the early hour, but fuck if he cared right now. When he got down to the bottom of the stairs, he saw through the glass of the front door that it was pouring rain, so he took a sharp left turn and went into the studio instead. He knew Mikey's crew snuck cigarettes in there sometimes, so as long as he didn't burn anything down, it should be okay.

Lighting up with a grateful inhalation, Gerard wandered around the cavernous room for a while, poking around in an eerily accurate recreation of an 80's teen girl's bedroom and a Lloyd Kaufman-esque stack of oil drums before stumbling upon what could only be the falling crypt from the other day. It had been rebuilt since then, and was actually sort of amazing at looking like centuries-old stone. Mikey had some seriously good set dressers working for him, Gerard thought appreciatively, before he remembered he was supposed to be mad at Mikey right now. He sat down in the doorway of the crypt, trying to blow smoke rings and squinting at the abandoned dressmaker's dummies shoved in a corner. The wavering smoke made them look like a horde of zombies, and Gerard's fingers twitched a little for a pencil.

  
He heard the door creak open, and he knew it'd be Mikey, but he didn't get up, just kept smoking and tapping his fingers against his thigh. Mikey didn't say anything right away either, just settled himself onto the fake turf next to Gerard, long legs folding awkwardly. Finally he reached out and snagged the cigarette from Gerard's fingers, taking a quick puff before returning it carefully. "I pissed you off up there, huh?" he asked mildly.

"You think?" Gerard said bitchily.

  
"Aw, come on, Gee. You used to be able to take it. I just thought...I thought things were getting back to normal." His voice twisted a little, and he sounded like the little brother he was.

Gerard ground the butt out on the sole of his boot and speared his fingers through his hair. "Things are normal, Mikey. It's just...it's sort of a new normal? I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me about Frank. I mean, he seems pretty rad, Gee, but he _was_ really fucking wasted last night, and...I guess I just don't get what's going on?"

Gerard wrinkled his nose and made a face at Mikey. "I...well, I met him last weekend, at Pete's gig. Except we didn't exactly get as far as exchanging names."

Mikey snorted. "Do I want to know what you did exchange?" Gerard felt himself turning red, and Mikey added quickly, "Okay, I'm gonna take that as a big no. So, you and Frank got to know each other, in some fashion, and...."

"And I can't stop thinking about him, okay? Except I never thought I'd actually see him again, especially not in my brother's house! And...yeah, he was really fucking wasted, Mikes. He wasn't exactly sober last weekend at the club, either. I don't know if I can be around that."

"But you want to be around Frank," Mikey said. It wasn't a question, not really. Mikey sort of always had Gerard figured out. Sometimes even before Gerard did. Gerard sighed.

"Maybe." It was as much as he was willing to admit.

"Okay." Mikey sounded thoughtful. It was a bad sign.

"Mikey, don't do anything!" Gerard pleaded fruitlessly. It was like Mikey had selective hearing most of the time, but especially when he was trying to fix Gerard's life somehow. "Seriously, Mikes. Just leave it alone. I'll be fine."

"Of course you will, Gee," Mikey said reassuringly, patting him on the arm. It was the least reassuring thing Gerard could imagine, especially when Mikey went on to change the subject and ignore all subtle and unsubtle attempts to change it back. They went out later, braving the rain to stock up on comic books, and Gerard caught the train home one poster tube lighter, a half dozen comic books heavier, and completely untrusting of his brother's ability to keep his nose out of Gerard's love life. Or lack thereof.


	2. this time I mean it

The next week was pretty much the same as all of Gerard's weeks lately, which was to say, uneventful and a little pathetic. He worked. He distracted himself whenever he caught himself thinking about Frank, which meant he watched a lot of Cartoon Network and went through an obscene amount of coffee. He went to see Bob on Thursday, was promised a working car by Monday, and took Bob a coffee as big as his head on Friday as a thank-you. Bob grumbled at him about bribes, and something about Red Bull, but sucked down the coffee with complete disregard for beverage temperature, and Gerard decided to pick up a four-pack of Red Bull for Monday.

Unfortunately, this meant Gerard would have to take the train in again if he wanted to visit Mikey. He briefly considered just staying home, and he did find things to do on Friday, but by the time Saturday rolled around he was sort of antsy, and Mikey had called twice since Thursday, with an uncharacteristic level of interest in what Gerard was doing, who he'd talked to that week, things like that. Gerard was suspicious but ultimately decided Mikey was just keeping an eye on him in his own weird way after their conversation last weekend.

The Saturday evening train was pretty deserted, for whatever reason. Gerard rushed aboard at the last minute, late as usual, struggling with the newspaper crumpled in his left hand as he tried to tug off his leather jacket with his right. He was barely settled in his seat, having showed his transit pass to a passing conductor, when he heard a throat-clearing sound from right next to him, and he looked up, startled. He'd thought he was alone in the car.

"Hi, Gerard." It was Frank, Gerard realized. Of fucking course. He wouldn't put it past himself to have conjured him here with his fucking mind at this point.

"Hi, Frank," Gerard replied carefully. "What are you doing here?" His mind was still racing. This was so fucking awkward. What was he going to say? 'Sorry you mistook me for someone who wasn't a loser'? 'I really hope you're not a drunken douchebag because I have a giant pathetic crush on you'?

"I was at my mom's," Frank responded. He fidgeted a little, like he couldn't quite stand still, his face twisted into an adorable expression of - hell, he looked nervous. Imagine that.

"You want to sit down?" Gerard asked with a sudden rush of optimism.

"Yeah." Frank shifted back towards Gerard's seat just as the train hit a track junction or something, the train car shaking and knocking him off balance. There was a flailing blur of arms that made Gerard squint his eyes closed as a reflex, and Frank landed heavily in Gerard's lap.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Gerard asked, a little concerned. Frank was moving slowly, like he was hurting or something, fumbling himself off of Gerard's lap with stiff movements.

"M'sorry," Frank mumbled. He sounded miserable, his eyes flashing up to meet Gerard's and flickering quickly away. A dull flush had stained his cheeks.

"You don't have to apologize. It wasn't your fault," Gerard said, waiting for Frank to meet his eyes again before offering him a reassuring smile.

 

"No, dude, no. I mean, I'm really fucking sorry. 'Cause every time I see you, I do something stupid. 'S'like someone's got a Frank Iero voodoo doll, man, and they're just, fuckin', - " Frank made vague stabbing motions in the air, then clutched at his bicep with the opposite hand. "Maybe it's your brother."

Gerard tipped his head to the side, frowning. "Mikey thinks you're rad. I think it was love at first sight."

"I think he's trying to kill me." Frank was still rubbing his biceps.

"What did he do?" Gerard exclaimed, suddenly horrified.

"Made me hold this, this boom stick thing. For, like, hours, dude."

Gerard had to turn away, then, and press his lips together to keep from laughing. It was just so fucking Mikey. "You were on the set?" he asked hesitantly. He could practically smell his little brother being devious.

 

"I swear I didn't ask for the job. My boss made me do it. Wentz gave me a day off," Frank hurried to reply.

"Pete Wentz is your boss?" Gerard shook his hair in front of his face nervously. He'd been in Pete's office just last week - had Frank seen him? Did he think Gerard had set all this up? Did Frank think he was haunting Pete and Mikey's place in hopes of seeing him? This was fucking awkward. And totally, totally Mikey's fault, fuck letting him off the hook for this one.

Frank nodded.

"I'm sorry my brother tortured you," Gerard said, stomach churning a little. "He can be a real dick with guys I like. It's like, the Mikey Way boyfriend screening process." He let out a nervous laugh, barely hearing his own words above the chorus of shut up shut up shut up coming from his frantic brain.

"T's okay. He said nice things when he wasn't trying to kill me," Frank said, dissolving into giggles.

Shit. Gerard was making a total fool of himself. He risked a glance back over at Frank, catching him licking his lips. The progress of his pink tongue tip across his full lower lip was mesmerizing. It was probably physically impossible for Frank to get hotter every time Gerard saw him, except he did. He was wearing a Lost Boys tee shirt that looked about two sizes too small, and loose, well worn jeans that were slipping low on his hips as he fidgeted. Gerard could see the edges of the same tattoos on his lower belly that had taunted his memory for weeks, and he rubbed his palms mindlessly against the denim covering his own thighs, resisting the urge to slip his fingers under the cotton hem and push it out of the way. He wanted a better look. He wanted lots of things he shouldn't want, especially considering their current location.

"You think we could..." Gerard started, his flow of words cut off, suddenly unnecessary, as Frank's arms came around him and Frank's lips slanted messily over his. Oh. Not what he was going to ask for. Infinitely better. He knew, somewhere in the part of his brain that was still capable of being rational, that there were still so many things that he and Frank really ought to talk about. But...maybe not right now because Frank was warm, and he tasted like coffee and maybe red sauce, and another sudden jolt of the train car sent him tumbling into Gerard's lap again, and if anything was a sign from above, that was.

 

Frank's scratchy giggle sounded even better from this close, and his lips smacked cheerfully against Gerard's cheek. "Best train ride ever," he whispered happily. Gerard stared into his eyes; they were clear and bright, not hazed with too much beer. Manic glee and dark arousal weren't things Gerard was used to seeing combined. This, it appeared, was the real Frank. It was a Frank he had to touch.

He reached over, jerking at the buttons of Frank's fly, which gave up the ghost with no resistance, the worn denim folding back around his wrist as he slid his hand into Frank's underwear in search of bare skin. Frank moaned when their skin touched, his lips sliding along Gerard's neck and separating as he slid off of Gerard's lap. He reached back immediately, his hand closing over the hard line of Gerard's own cock and squeezing, hard.

Gerard bit back a desperate noise and increased his grip, his motion, making Frank slide down next to him on the seat and spread his legs even farther apart, head tossing on an arched neck. Gerard couldn't look away, imagining the arched spine and the carelessly spread thighs on tousled sheets instead. Frank looked up and met his eyes, pupils blown and lips parted, and Gerard bit his lip hard and choked on the resulting moan, head thumping carelessly back into the headrest of his seat.

The hand on his crotch squeezed harder, then Frank let go and fumbled one-handed at Gerard's zipper. Gerard would have tried to help, but the fingers of his unoccupied hand were clamped white-knuckled around the back of the seat in front of him. He knew if he let go now, he'd probably end up in a heap on the floor. But Frank managed the fastening, and his hand slipped inside, the friction of skin against damp cotton making Gerard grit his teeth. His eyes never strayed from Frank's face, and Frank's were just as intense. He was so busy watching the sensations play across his face and counting his labored, panting breaths that the rattle of the train car door scared him half to death. He froze, hand still wrapped firmly around Frank's dick, and Frank slowly sat up, his own hand slipping from Gerard's jeans. He took a casual glance over his shoulder, and when he turned back to Gerard, he whispered breathlessly, "There's no one there!" Gerard let a stifled chuckle slip at Frank's wide-eyed expression, and within seconds they were both convulsing with laughter.

Frank slumped bonelessly against Gerard's shoulder, giggling, and Gerard somewhat reluctantly removed his hand from the other man's jeans. His own lips were still twitching when he nudged at Frank's head with his chin and whispered into his ear, "We need to stop doing this shit in public, Frankie."

Frank sputtered into silence, then replied after a moment's pause, "As long as we don't have to stop doing it." His eyes sparkled mischievously, and Gerard put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him up against his side.

"Works for me."

 

It took a while, but Frank and Gerard settled down into a normal conversation. Gerard knew he was talking a lot, but Frank liked all the same horror movies as he did, and had really awesome taste in comics, and he just couldn't stop the exhilarated flood of words. Also, Frank didn't stop touching him for a single second, whether it was fingers plucking at the denim of Gerard's pants leg, or the quick flicker of lipstonguelipring against Gerard's mouth. He didn't seem to realize he was doing it, and Gerard, who normally wasn't all that keen on people in his personal space, couldn't get enough either.

He blinked when he saw the Penn Station walls outside the windows, vaguely surprised like he'd forgotten where he was and what he was doing. He grabbed his jacket off the floor of the car and shuffled off the train, fingers still wound together with Frank's. Then Frank tugged free and rushed back on the train. Gerard frowned until he caught sight of Frank returning, staggering a little under the weight of his forgotten backpack, which looked to be approximately half Frank's size. Gerard's lips twitched, and he grabbed ahold of one of the straps, helping Frank carry it up the stairs. It clanked when Frank and Gerard dropped it on the pavement outside the station.

Gerard started shrugging back into his leather jacket. He'd told Frank he was spending the night at Mikey's, and now he knew where Frank worked, too. It was entirely possible they'd run into each other again. Gerard really wanted to get his number. Gerard really wanted to be touching him again. He hated feeling so hesitant, but it was like Frank was too good to be true. Then Frank grabbed him, pushed him up against the wall outside, and kissed him again. Frank was apparently also a mind reader. And he tasted really, really good.

He was concentrating so hard on Frank's mouth that he barely even noticed when the rain started, until a sheet of water hit them both, plastering Gerard's hair to his face and running down their bodies like tiny rivers. Gerard looked upwards, blinking as the drops collected along his eyelashes, and slicked his hair out of his face with one hand. He smiled a little; it was just like a scene from a ridiculous movie - except it was cold, and sort of uncomfortable. "Your stuff is getting wet," he told Frank, raising his voice a little to be heard over the rain.

Frank looked down, picking up his backpack and poking at the contents. "I have dry things at my place," he said. Gerard shifted his shoulders uneasily under his jacket. He probably should have thought of that. He'd have to make these clothes last till tomorrow, because his brother was a fucking twig. Frank was still talking though. "And, you know, coffee? I have coffee. You like coffee?"

Gerard snorted. "Do I like - are you serious?"

Frank rolled his eyes a little, then grabbed Gerard's lapels, fingers squeaking on the wet leather. "Come to my place, Gerard," he said. "It's not far. I will make you coffee, and I will give you some dry clothes, and I might even let you see my comic collection."

"That sounds like a come-on," Gerard commented mildly, already gathering his jacket around him to try and keep the rain out, lost cause that it was.

"Fuck yeah it is," said Frank, grabbing his hand and pulling him along as he sprinted for the nearest subway stairs. They stumbled to a breathless stop on the subway platform, hopping aboard the next train. It was only a few stops till Frank was tugging Gerard back out the double doors, up onto the street, where the rain still fell steadily. His apartment building was close, but they were both panting by the time they struggled through Frank's front door.

Frank dropped his backpack by a pile of shoes, already pulling impatiently at both Gerard's clothing and his own. Their t-shirts and Gerard's jacket dropped to the floor as well with a soggy, wet sound and Frank was in his space again immediately, Gerard's damp back sticking to the plaster of the living room wall with Frank pressed against him like a small furnace. It was so cold in the room that Gerard was pretty sure there was steam rising off their skin, but he could have been imagining it. What he wasn't imagining was the urgency in Frank's voice as he whispered into Gerard's neck, "God, Gee, I've been thinking about this. About you. You're so fucking pretty." Gerard shuddered, and Frank pulled back to ask, "Are you cold? I'm sorry, I turned off the heat while I was away."

"No, no," he shook his head, "I'm - " he took a deep breath, " - fine." He was pretty sure he was actually going to explode if Frank kept touching him. Maybe if he stopped. Yeah, he was a goner either way.

"Am I going too fast?" Frank asked, hands roving restlessly over Gerard's skin.

"No, please...don't stop." Frank kissed him then, till he had to pull back to fight with the wet denim of Gerard's jeans. Gerard let his fingers wander over Frank's bare chest, tracing the edges of inked designs, and Frank stopped what he was doing, stood still and looked down, watching the progress of Gerard's fingertips towards Frank's waistband. "I wondered what these were," he said, tracing over the edges of the swallows bracketed by the script "Search and Destroy" spanning Frank's hips. "Kept thinking about them."

"I keep thinking about your fingers," Frank hissed out as Gerard traced the hair spreading down from his navel. He tugged at Frank's belt, and without the cinched leather Frank's sodden jeans slid quickly to the floor, Frank dancing around impatiently as he kicked free of his shoes and then the pants legs, fingers biting into Gerard's shoulders. Gerard just looked for a moment. Frank's small form was dotted with unexpected patches of ink, and he realized he was actually, against his own expectations, allowed to do what he'd fantasized about. He let his fingers sink into the soft skin of Frank's waist, licking back into his mouth, moaning in approval as Frank's fingers twisted forcefully into his wet hair. His own soaked, constricting jeans were threatening to end the proceedings if he didn't take them off soon, and he shoved blindly at his shoes, socks, jeans, underwear, reluctant to let go of Frank but determined to feel naked skin as soon as possible. Frank broke the kiss long enough to gasp, "Bed?" and Gerard nodded emphatically. Yes, please. Soon. Now.

Frank's hands slipped to Gerard's hips, pushing him gently backwards in the direction of the promised bed. Gerard grumbled into Frank's mouth as his hands repeatedly encountered the fabric of Frank's underwear in their explorations, and Frank laughed, the sound taking on a shivery quality as the frigid air of the bedroom hit their skin. "We're here," he mumbled against the corner of Gerard's mouth. He still had a firm, nearly painful grip on Gerard's hips, and he used it to tug him even closer, rubbing their dicks together through the barrier of his boxer briefs.

"Fucking tease," Gerard moaned, grasping for the elastic waistband and missing several times due to Frank's frantic motions. He laid his hands against Frank's shoulders and shoved, not too hard, but Frank didn't seem to be expecting it, collapsing back onto the mattress with a surprised noise. Gerard leaned down and pinned him with a hand splayed across his pelvis, the other grabbing the offending elastic and yanking Frank's underwear down his legs; from there it was quickly kicked across the room, and Gerard nearly took a knee in the jaw as he sank to his knees by the side of the bed. Frank froze as he licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, letting loose a few garbled profanities as Gerard wrapped a hand around the base, letting his mouth sink down to meet it. Frank squirmed against the mattress, fingers clenching and unclenching against the sheets a few times before they shoved against Gerard's shoulders.

Gerard stopped; he let Frank's dick slide out of his mouth, mouth watering from the musky odor and bitter-sharp taste of Frank's pre-come. Frank's garbled noises had resolved themselves into a frantically muttered, "No no no no." If Frank wanted him to stop, now...well, this would be the most embarrassing moment of his life.

He sucked in a ragged breath, gasped, "Frank?" and then felt a sudden flash of pain as all ten of Frank's fingernails seemed to sink into the skin of his shoulders. He tugged at Gerard's shoulders with enough force that Gerard was yanked halfway up his torso, catching himself automatically with hands planted on either side of Frank's ribs.

"Fuck me, please, Gerard, I can't...not gonna last, just - need it," he groaned, hips lifting with jerky motions, and...oh. Gerard bit his lip hard as the sensitive head of his cock skated along the crease of Frank's hip, and he bore down with his own, meeting Frank's thrusts with steady pressure till Frank slowed down, whining deep in his throat.

"Do you have stuff, Frankie? Where...." Frank released his white-knuckle grip on one of Gerard's shoulders to fake-reach for his nightstand, and Gerard leaned over, fumbling through the mess inside to retrieve the small tube and a square packet, dropping them onto the bed next to them and stretching back up for a kiss. He lost track of time for a while, but eventually he had to stop to take a few deep breaths. Frank just stared up at him, quiet, trusting. "You're so fucking hot," he whispered, overcome. Frank's hair was as soft as ever underneath his wandering fingers, and before he could get utterly distracted by something ridiculous, like Frank's eyebrows, he pushed himself back up to his knees and bent to taste the skin of Frank's stomach before reaching for the lube.

Frank's eyes had slipped closed as Gerard worked him open with careful fingers, his own panting breath sounding horribly loud in the silent apartment. Frank's own groans were quickly muffled by the bedsheet, and Gerard wanted to hear him, so he carefully eased Frank's legs apart, hooking them over his shoulders so he could lean in and kiss him again. As soon as he felt Gerard's lips, he turned his head, crying out Gerard's name into his mouth, hips writhing in time with the tiny motions of Gerard's fingers. He could tell Frank was ready, too, and he bit his lip in concentration, fumbling with the condom. Frank was still watching, hands clenching and unclenching on the bedsheets again, and Gerard pressed an open mouth against Frank's thigh before grabbing his own cock and lining up to push inside.

 

"Ok?" he asked Frank.

"Ok," Frank mouthed, hands trailing over his own skin. Gerard blinked, giving a few careful flexes of his hips till he'd sunk in to the hilt. Frank was hot around him and felt so fucking good he was sure for a moment he was dreaming, searching blindly for Frank's hands till he could twine their fingers together and squeeze. He stretched to kiss him, fumbling to catch his mouth properly, snapping his hips harder in frustration when he could only get so close. Frank's head fell back against the pillows, his neck stretched bare and inviting, and Gerard leaned forward to taste the creamy skin. Frank's breath wheezed into his ear, and Gerard stifled a growl, snapping his hips even harder. Frank just took it all, squirming and moaning, and it wasn't enough.

Gerard pulled out with a soundless curse, rolling Frank over onto his side to push into him from behind, and he sighed in relief, leaning over his shoulder to mouth along his neck and ear. "Been such...a long time...fuck, Frank...never wanna stop." Frank answered with a desperate-sounding groan, reaching an arm back till he touched skin. Gerard buried his face in Frank's hair, speeding up his strokes till he felt Frank clench and stiffen around him, wrapping his hands around Frank's shoulders and thrusting blindly till he came with a groan, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh of Frank's shoulder as his hips stuttered to a stop.

He drifted for a while, listening to Frank's breathing, brushing his lips along the soft knobs of Frank's vertebrae until his muscles relaxed. Frank immediately rolled over onto his stomach, the motion separating their bodies, and Gerard moaned weakly at the fresh twinge of sensation on the over-sensitized skin of his cock. He sat up to dispose of the condom, and when he turned around Frank was looking straight at him, reaching up to brush Gerard's wet, tangled, sweaty hair out of his face. He was smiling wider than the jack-o-lantern inked on his back. "Hey," he said when he had finally pushed all the strands of hair away.

Gerard grinned back. "Hey," he replied, slipping back under the covers. It really was cold in Frank's apartment, but less so when Frank cuddled back up next to him, plucking at the sheets to claim his fair share.

"I still have to show you my comic book collection," he said lightly. Gerard chuckled. Looking at Frank, he still thought he was out of his league, but listening to him, he knew he was with someone who'd maybe, against all odds, actually understand him. He reached out to touch him, finding the sharp ridge of Frank's hipbone and tracing his fingers over it gently, repeatedly, till the rain and the soft puffs of Frank's breath put him to sleep.

*

 

Gerard woke the next morning to the continued sounds of the rain and the far-off patter of drip coffee. He smiled to himself despite the empty half of the bed next to him, and stretched luxuriously, rolling over to bury his face in the cool cotton of Frank's pillow for a moment. It smelled like him. Gerard inhaled a few times, feeling creepy as fuck, but, hell. No one had to know. After a few minutes, though, his need for coffee and a cigarette drove him to sit up, and that's when he saw the t-shirt and boxers sitting at the foot of the bed, neatly folded. Gerard grabbed the shirt first - it was a Black Flag t-shirt that looked like Frank had owned it approximately forever. He slipped it over his head before tugging on the boxers - those were a little tight, but not too bad. Fuck, Frank was tiny. He flashed back to last night, to how easy it had been to wrap around him. He wanted to do it again.

Padding silently out to the kitchen, he found Frank with his back to the doorway, smoking a cigarette out the kitchen window. He was also dressed in a t-shirt and boxers. Gerard leaned up against his back, wrapping his arms around Frank's torso. "Good morning," he said, brushing his lips over Frank's neck.

"Morning," Frank replied. Gerard was maybe a little irrationally pleased when he reached back and stuck his half-smoked cigarette between Gerard's lips. "There's coffee," he said, his head tilted back, forehead pressing against Gerard's neck. Gerard plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and passed it back. Coffee would be good, but he had two out of three things he'd been craving and wasn't inclined to hurry.

"There's you too," he whispered, nudging Frank's head so he could kiss him, only able to reach his jaw.

Frank giggled. "No reason you can't have both." He got rid of the cigarette butt and nudged Gerard until he could reach the coffeemaker. Gerard let go, glancing out the window - yep, still raining - and shivered a little at a puff of cold air. Frank filled two coffee mugs, reaching over to close the window and giving Gerard a kiss. Gerard picked up a mug. The ceramic was practically scalding compared to the chill in the air. He followed Frank into the living room, sitting on the threadbare couch and sipping cautiously at the steaming liquid. It was bad. Really, really bad. Frank was a coffee murderer. Frank was - okay, he was in Gerard's lap. Gerard could put up with bad coffee for that. But Frank was stealing the mug away. "You don't have to drink that."

"I like it," Gerard told him, reaching out. At least it was warm. Although, Frank was warm, too.

"It's crap," Frank said. "We can swing by Starbucks later. There's one right down the corner. The evil empire of coffee is everywhere."

Satisfied for the moment with the promise of Starbucks, he curved his arms loosely around Frank and watched him flip through the channels until he found Looney Tunes. "I root for Wile E. Coyote, dude," Frank told him, laying his head down on Gerard's shoulder. They watched in silence for a minute or two. The doomed coyote was constructing something particularly unsafe in an abandoned mine shaft. "You like vegan Italian cuisine?" Frank asked him. Gerard did. He also liked the feel of Frank's hand sneaking underneath his shirt.

Gerard pulled him closer. "I like everything as long as we don't have to get out of here for too long." He knew they couldn't shut out the rest of the world indefinitely. He really ought to call his brother at some point, and Frank wasn't getting out of his promise of coffee, but for now, this was exactly what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes** : These stories can be read on their own, but were written as companion pieces, each from a different character's point of view.
> 
> Beta'd by [](http://snarkyrainbow.livejournal.com/profile)[**snarkyrainbow**](http://snarkyrainbow.livejournal.com/).
> 
> I know what boys like / [I know what guys want](http://maryangel200.livejournal.com/252292.html?#cutid1)


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